


Until the End of Days

by Tarlan



Category: Alexander (2004)
Genre: Character Study, Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As they bore Alexander away from the battle on his shield, Hephaistion could only watch and pray to the gods that he still lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the End of Days

**Author's Note:**

> For SmallFandomFest FEST06

Hephaistion recalled the words of Aristotle when he and Alexander were boys sitting at the great philosopher's feet. He spoke of Achilles as a deeply selfish man for seriously endangering his own army while he was crazed with grief over the death of his lover, Patroculus. Yet Aristotle did not condemn the lying together of one man with another, only the reasons. For lust alone he deemed it a waste, giving nothing--but for the sharing of knowledge and virtue Aristotle considered it most pure and excellent. Hephaistion took those words to his heart and yet, when finally he went to Alexander's bed, he wondered why he could not have both the lust and passion as well as the sharing of knowledge and virtue.

As they grew from boys into men, he honored the words of Aristotle, refusing to settle only for passion, becoming more than just a companion but a friend and confidante too. Yet in his heart he and Alexander were Patroculus and Achilles reborn, lying together on the night before each battle to fortify themselves for the carnage ahead. Each knew that tomorrow might be the day when the gods refused to smile upon Alexander and brought them to death or ruin.

As he sucked in a hard breath, he recalled that they had come together before the battle of Gaugamela, drawing down the heavy cloth within Alexander's tent and bidding a trusted friend to allow no one to enter until the sun arose on the day of battle. He remembered the texture of Alexander's skin beneath his callused finger tips, relived the memory of the slightest rasp of bristled cheek against his palm and the roughness of desert-chapped lips against his own as they kissed, soft and sparingly at first, then deeper and harder, more hungry and desperate as lust and passion rose between them. He had drawn Alexander's hard flesh between his slicked, close-pressed thighs, using strong muscles to hold them together until the soft cry and the slippery wet heat of his beloved's release gave him reason to relax his tight grip. Strong fingers wrapped around his own straining flesh, drawing him quickly to the edge as he spilled his seed over Alexander's hand, watching in awe as Alexander lapped at the creamy droplets.

"I will refuse the drink of forgetfulness and will wait for you at the gates of Hades should I go before you," Alexander had whispered against his skin as they lay together after passion spent.

"And should my time come first then I will wait for you. But you must promise me, Alexander, that you will not be as Achilles. You will not let the craze of grief overcome your senses and endanger your army."

Alexander had risen to one elbow, smiling down at him. "You think I would be crazed with grief at your loss?"

His tone was jesting but Hephaistion saw the shadow crossing his eyes that night as if the words were a foreboding of things to pass.

Hephaistion took another harsh breath at the pain flaring in his leg, pushing up onto one elbow in a desperate attempt to see his lover, his king.

In Babylon, Alexander had spoken of a greatness that the known world had never seen, sharing his vision of a world united by knowledge where even the poorest might learn to read and write. Hephaistion had cautioned him for the gods were fickle, tearing into the flesh of those that would reach for greatness and leaving them to suffer for all eternity--as they had with Prometheus. That night they had spoken of trust deeper than any other, and of love that would remain all the days of their lives, and beyond to the gate of Hades itself. And afterwards they consummated their words with the brush of skin upon skin, with hearts beating as one as they shared passion with knowledge beneath the vibrant canopy of myth-filled stars.

The shouting grew nearer along with the rush of feet and Hephaistion could only gaze with longing as their companions bore Alexander away upon his shield--the arrow still protruding from his chest. Their eyes met for but a moment and yet that instant seemed almost frozen in time as the swift feet bearing Alexander away sank into mud churned by the blood spilled that day.

"Alexander!" He called out but his cry was but a pain-filled whisper, lost amidst the terrible screams of the injured and dying, man and beast alike. He slumped back onto the soft earth. "Alexander."

"Hephaistion!" Perdiccas dropped down beside him, barely recognizable beneath the blood splattered across his face and hair, and soaking beneath his armor. "Bring a healer!"

Hephaistion grunted in pain as Perdiccas put pressure on his wound, the world beginning to blur around him. He grabbed for Perdiccas's arm, digging his fingers into flesh. "Alexander?"

Perdiccas brought his hand down on top of Hephaistion's--his mouth set in a grim line, eyes tight with a truth he could not utter aloud. "I do not know how deep the arrow pierced," he answered in all honesty.

His world was darkening around the edges, the screams of the dying muffled as if covered by a thick cloak, and as he let the darkness take him away from the aftermath of battle, Hephaistion refused to let grief take him too. He had seen Alexander alive and he would hold onto that knowledge.

****

Beyond the thick tent walls, Hephaistion could hear very little sound, aware that most of those camped close to Alexander's tent would lie sleeping this night, exhausted by the most terrible and bloody of battles faced since they began this campaign many years ago. His leg ached terribly but he knew he had been lucky that the blow had struck the thicker side of his thigh, cutting into muscle rather than severing tendons. He would be back on his feet within a few weeks though he knew so serious a wound might never fully heal.

Across the tent he could see his soul's companion lying still on a bed of furs and fine silk cushions, finding himself mesmerized by the rise and fall of the bandaged chest. The Persian boy attended Alexander in silence. Though Hephaistion knew Alexander had taken the younger man to his bed on occasion--when Hephaistion was gone from his side with part of his vast army--yet he felt no jealousy or anger for he had no doubt for whom Alexander truly burned. He had no envy of the wives Alexander had taken either for they were simply to fulfill the need for an heir--a son to take over this great empire once Alexander's days were done. None had produced an heir so far but Hephaistion knew Alexander's visits to their beds were infrequent, for Alexander found little joy in lying with women.

Carefully, Hephaistion crawled to Alexander's side, accepting the boy's assistance to reach his lover. Alexander raised his hand weakly, and Hephaistion kissed the Egyptian ring that he had presented to Alexander as a token of his love--a ring Alexander had removed only the one time in all these years when he first bedded Roxanne. Hephaistion let his head drop to the pillow beside Alexander's aware that he could offer only his love rather than passion this night but the curve of Alexander's lips proved it would be more than enough.

One day the gods would part them, and when he thought back to the battle and Alexander's charge against the mighty beast, he truly thought that day had come. Perhaps it was selfish to wish that he would go before Alexander so that he would not have to suffer his loss from this mortal world--though Hephaistion knew he would follow Alexander across the Styx quickly.

As Alexander's weak fingers stroked through Hephaistion's still blood-matted hair, he pushed back the deep longing for those carefree days of their youth when they would sit at the feet of Aristotle, and simply dream of the glory that had already come to pass at such great cost.

END

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